


The Naughty Forty

by AngelCaffrey



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Ending, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Closet Sex, Dubious Consent, Episode Related, F/M, First Kiss, Handcuffs, Improbable Staircase Sex, Interrogation, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Prison Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Slash, Suckers, Suit Porn, Surely Uncomfortable Ladder Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Uniform Kink, Violence, gift-fic, pre-season, the van
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-24 05:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelCaffrey/pseuds/AngelCaffrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forty dirty ficlets, written as a gift for a friend's fortieth birthday and originally posted on LJ. There's pre-series stuff, fics tagged to episodes of the show, my version of how certain scenes should have gone down, a few different pairings, and lots of handcuffs. A metric shit-tonne of handcuffs.</p><p>Part I: From the day Neal and Peter first meet, to the night of 'Happy Birthday (Watching You Watching Me)'.</p><p>Part II: From the day of Neal's arrest, to when he asks Peter for the anklet deal.</p><p>Part III: From when Peter accepts Neal’s deal to the end of season one.</p><p>Part IV: From when El says they can, to when Neal gives Peter yet another birthday present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

  
_**1\. The One With The Sucker** _

Moz tried to stop him, but Neal had to see him up close. Thinking quickly, he approached the older man.

“I couldn’t help but overhear, are you with the FBI?”

“Special Agent Peter Burke.”

“Wow.” Neal asked about counterfeiting and bonds, keen for any information he could get that might suggest this Agent Burke knew more than he should, or was safe.

Burke, however, had a superb poker face; Neal getting nothing more than the face value of the words exchanged.

“Well thanks again for all the hard work you’re doing, Agent Burke. That’s for you. Have a good day.” Neal handed him the sucker the sweetheart teller had given him and walked away, fighting the urge to look back.

Peter watched him go; looking him up and down. He glanced down at the sucker in his hand, the image of the young man’s sparkling blue eyes clear in his mind. The mega-watt smile he’d received and the shapely ass walking away from him left Peter slightly stunned.

“Happy birthday me,” he said, raising his eyebrows with a slight smirk.

 

 

 

  
_**2\. The One With The Dream** _

Peter unwrapped the sucker slowly, savouring peeling the wrapping away from the sweetness inside. He raised it to his lips, keen to take it in to his mouth, but he knew the first taste would be the best, and was determined to make the most of it.

As his tongue touched the lolly, Peter was surprised by its warmth, and as it moved past his lips, its size too. Suddenly, he wasn’t holding a plastic lollipop stick, but was gripping a warm, solid thigh, and as he looked up, he wasn’t outside in the sun on a summer afternoon, but was on his knees at Neal Caffrey’s feet. He sucked keenly, and it wasn’t a green sucker resting on his tongue, but Caffrey's cock, and it tasted better than any lolly he’d ever had.

*

Peter started awake with a gasp, heart pounding and cock hard.  _What the hell was that_?!

El turned over, and offered a muffled, “Peter?”

“Go back to sleep, hon,” he whispered, sitting up and slipping out of the bed, making his way to the bathroom.

Peter firmly refused to believe that the shining blue eyes that winked at him behind his eyelids as he rubbed one off belonged to  _anyone_  but his wife.

 

 

 

  
_**3\. The One With The Spying** _

Neal stood on the stoop of the cheap hotel, a cap pulled down low over his forehead and a newspaper tucked under his arm. Behind his sunglasses, he watched, intrigued, as the FBI personnel began emerging from the bar they had just stormed, accompanied by several shady-looking characters already placed under arrest. He recognised a couple of the agents, from other times he’d watched them (or watched them watching him) but it was a few more minutes until he saw the face he’d come for, the face he, nowadays, was always looking for.

Peter marched a burly, balding man in a cheap suit over to one of the cars, throwing him roughly against it after responding to something the man had said to Peter’s female colleague with a sneer. Crowding up behind him, Peter pulled the perp’s arms back firmly and cuffed him, leaning over his shoulder and speaking close to his ear. Neal knew, in reality, that the man was being read his rights, although he could think of far better things for Agent Peter Burke to be whispering in someone’s ear when he had them pinned under him.

Peter pushed the man’s head down as he was put in the back of the squad car, and then looked up, glancing over the street, noting the small but curious crowd that had gathered to watch. He smiled, and turned back to his team to praise them for a job well done.

Neal watched Peter’s moment of victory, imagining that solid body pressing  _him_  up against the car, closing those cuffs around  _his_  wrists, growling the words in  _his_  ear.

That was probably enough Fed-watching for today, Neal reasoned. After all, the front of his jeans were getting uncomfortably tight.

 

 

 

  
_**4\. The One With The Cuffs** _

Neal perused the range with a critical eye. There were pairs made of leather, some made of candy, and fluffy ones in every colour imaginable, but he didn’t need or want the novelty value. He had a specific image in mind, and that meant finding just the right pair of cuffs.

Surprisingly, finding a standard pair of metal cuffs with a decent lock wasn’t as easy as he’d imagined. He didn’t want the anodised red or purple ones, he wanted silver. Stock-standard, with just the right  _click_.

Finally, he spotted them. The last pair, sitting further back than all the others. Compared to the others on display, they were boring, but when you’re looking for a pair just like the FBI use, just like Peter Burke uses, boring is perfect. Or, boring is realistic, and _realistic_  is perfect.

 

 

 

  
_**5\. The One With The Box** _

It wasn’t like Peter’s mother was actually going to check how tidy it was under his and Elizabeth’s bed, but that didn’t stop El cleaning like there was no tomorrow when the in-laws were coming to stay. As she pushed an old yoga mat further under the bed and straightened countless shoe boxes, she was surprised to find one box differing in weight to the others. Sliding it out, she opened it without thought, wondering if Peter had hidden that old pair of joggers she had tried to make him get rid of months ago. However, she was surprised to discover when she lifted the lid that the box did not contain a beaten up pair of sneakers.

There was an odd assortment of items in the box, but with a common theme – this was clearly Peter’s Secret Box of Caffrey. There was a large stack of what Elizabeth assumed were surveillance photographs, which she thumbed through quickly. It seemed he had been adding to the collection for some time, by the varying length of Caffrey’s hair, and the changing background of the photos. Some were colour, others black and white; some were wide shots, others zoomed in tight on the face that El couldn’t help but admit was handsome.

Setting the pile down, she looked over the rest of the contents of the box. A set of cufflinks, onyx, by the look of them, unlike any Peter had ever owned. A business card with the name ‘Nick Halden’ printed on it, simple and classy on good quality cardstock. A green lollipop, still wrapped. Three cream envelopes with the same neat handwriting on each, one for ‘Special Agent Burke, FBI’, one for ‘Peter Burke’, and one labelled simply ‘Peter’. She didn’t open these, but slid them aside to reveal a further envelope at the very bottom of the box. It was plain white, not marked, but had the slightly worn look of one that had had its contents removed and replaced numerous times.

She hesitated slightly. This stuff was Peter’s, and he had clearly been keeping it private for a reason. Perhaps the envelope contained FBI documents; in which case she really ought to stop snooping and put everything back as she’d found it. The surveillance photos were definitely FBI property, not hers to look at. She was still trying to convince herself not to open the last envelope as she slid the pile of eight-by-tens out onto the carpet.

Her eyes widened slightly as she was greeted by the sight of Neal Caffrey’s half-naked body. The photo was in black and white, which only served to highlight the well-defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. He was smiling broadly, at what she couldn’t see, as he crossed a wide expanse of pale sand, the ocean glittering behind him. Pushing that photo aside, in the next shot she saw what she assumed he had been smiling at, a bikini-clad brunette he was now kissing deeply. There were a few more photos of Neal and the woman, before the scene changed. Now they were pictures taken through a window, as evidenced by the cross-bars of the frame that cut across the image. The presence of the frame did nothing to conceal the fact that Caffrey was nude, and obviously unaware he was being watched, let alone photographed. He was stretching widely, his hair ruffled, clearly having just woken. Elizabeth vaguely noted it was the first photo in which she had seen him look anything less than perfectly put together – not that his body wasn’t entirely flawless, from his toned arms, to his well-sculpted pectorals, to his perfectly proportioned half-mast cock.

“El?” Peter’s voice from downstairs startled her; she hadn’t heard the door. She felt her cheeks redden slightly as she realised she was sitting in her bedroom staring at a photo of a naked man who could not have been further from her husband. The fact that the photo  _belonged_  to her husband only served to make the situation even stranger. Shoving the photos back in the envelope and the envelope into the box, she pushed it quickly under the bed as she called back to him.

“Upstairs, hon,” she answered, hearing his footfalls as he came up the stairs. Standing up, she turned to greet him, embracing him warmly and giving him a light peck on the lips.

“How was your day?” she asked with a smile, letting him go as he reached up to tug his tie off.

‘Oh, you know,’ he answered vaguely. She noticed suddenly the corner of the box was poking out from under the valance. Under the guise of helping him with the tie, she pushed it with her toe until it was properly under the bed, making a mental note to check everything was back in order in the box later. With Peter, there was a place for everything, and everything had to be in its place. And if she had to make sure the photos in the worn white envelope were in their proper order, what of it?

 

 

 

  
_**6\. The One With The Cuffs, Part 2** _

Handcuffs weren’t a problem for Neal Caffrey. In the earliest days of his career as a confidence man, Moz had stressed the important of ensuring there wasn’t a lock Neal couldn’t pick; a safe he couldn’t crack. In comparison to some of the locks he had picked in his time, cuffs were hardly a challenge. Even double locked, it didn’t take Neal more than a few minutes to escape them in most of the situations (staged and otherwise) in which he had tested himself.

*

Neal laid in bed, sleep eluding him. In his head, he mentally cracked an AmSec CE1814, his version of counting sheep, perhaps. His mind wandered as he stared at the ceiling, taking him back to the stoop where he had stood a few days earlier, watching Peter arrest some no-name two-bit thief.

Closing his eyes, he watched the scene replaying in front of him, mentally adding the  _click_ of the cuffs as they were placed on the man’s wrists. The bag from the adult store Neal had visited on his way home from Burke-watching that day was burning a proverbial hole in the floor, its contents as yet unused. Rolling closer to the edge, Neal slung an arm over and reached beneath the bed, pulling out the bag and retrieving the cuffs from inside.

He sat, flicking them closed, ratcheting them tighter, and then releasing them. He closed one of the silver loops around his right wrist, tightening gradually until the metal bit ever so slightly into the soft tissue. Hunkering down beneath the sheets, he turned over, placing his cuffed right hand at the small of his back, reliving the memory one more time. Only this time, he wasn’t watching from across the street, he was being marched out of the bar, Burke’s firm grip on his bicep. The mattress beneath him was no longer soft, but the hard metal of an FBI vehicle, and his rapidly hardening cock was trapped beneath him now as painfully as if he really were up against a car door. He could almost feel Burke’s warm breath against his ear as he read him his rights.

“ _You have the right to remain silent._ ”

Neal shivered, the voice silky and low and so perfect it was like Peter was standing right behind him.

“ _Unless, of course, you want to beg… because I would_ love _to see your pretty lips beg. You’re mine, Caffrey,_ ” Burke’s voice growled in his ear, and as the second cuff closed tight around his wrist, he came all over his sheets.

 

 

 

  
_**7\. The One With The Box, Part 2** _

Peter was away for the weekend, out west following Caffrey’s trail yet again. The visit from the in-laws had passed uneventfully, and El was content, sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine. Peter had had to leave before his parents, but they were gone now, and she finally had the chance to kick back. She thought back over the time; shaking her head slightly as she considered how half of her cleaning efforts had been wasted, because Mr and Mrs Burke Senior hadn’t seen how spotless the top of the refrigerator was, or how clean the tiles behind the bathtub were..!

She thought back to tidying under the bed, and her finding of Peter’s box of photos. If she closed her eyes, she could see Caffrey’s abs. She could see his fucking cock, for crying out loud. She was a married woman, happily so, but he was a damn fine looking man, and everyone is allowed a fantasy, right?

Setting her glass down, she headed upstairs, crouching next to the bed and retrieving the box. Settling on top of the covers, she opened it, shifting the smaller items aside to reach the worn white envelope. As soon as she touched it, she knew something was wrong. As she lifted it from the box, the weight – or lack thereof – of the envelope confirmed her fears – it was empty. Oddly, she mused, she didn’t know if she was more disappointed that Peter probably knew she had been in the box, or that the pictures were gone. She realised there was still one thing inside, and slid the single photo out of the envelope.

It was the nude shot; with those toned muscles and that perfect cock she had been seeing every time she closed her eyes for the last week. Stuck on the photo was a post-it note, blue, with Peter’s handwriting on it.

“ _Think of me when you do it. I’ll be thinking of you._ ”

As she lay back against the pillows, one hand holding the photo and the other inside her panties, she promised herself she’d at least  _try_  to be thinking of him.

 

 

 

  
_**8\. The One With The Cuffs, Part 3** _

Keller stirred and then woke, looking up to see the television still on, a mutton-dressed-as-lamb saleswoman on the screen demonstrating the amazing abilities of some drastically overpriced vegetable slicer. He pushed himself up sleepily, shutting the TV off and stumbling through to the bedroom. The bedside clock read 2:25. Neal had been in bed a few hours already, and was lying on his stomach, breathing slow and even. He didn’t stir as Keller sat on the edge of the bed, stripping off his shirt and lifting the sheet to swing his feet up.

Suddenly he stopped, looking over at Caffrey with a slight smile and a shake of his head. He could smell sex, and was surprised at Neal; the other man usually kept it to the bathroom or the shower. Laying down, he turned over, trying to get comfortable. Neal shifted slightly, half-murmuring something as he moved, and Keller was surprised to hear a clinking sound, as if Neal had gone to bed with change in his pocket. Lifting the sheet slightly, he looked over at the other man’s still form. His brows lifted and his lips curled into a smirk as he saw the cuffs, one still fastened around Neal’s wrist. Shaking his head, amused, he rolled back over and closed his eyes. He knew Caffrey had been playing games with the Feds, but this was a new development…

 

 

 

  
_**9\. The One With The Cuffs, Part 4** _

Neal came out of the bathroom, hair damp and curling, a few stray trails of water tracking their way over his shoulders and starting down his bare torso. He looked around for Keller, and was surprised to see him sitting in the bed, fiddling with something in his hands. As Neal drew closer to the bed, he realised that it was the cuffs – his cuffs. Approaching Keller, he asked, in a jokingly seductive tone,

“You like those?”

Keller looked up, eyes flicking over Neal’s body, naked but for the towel slung low around his hips.

“They’d look better on you,” he replied, lust darkening his gaze. Neal met Keller’s eyes, challenging him to voice his desires. Raising an eyebrow, he placed one hand at the edge of the towel, ready to let it fall.

“You think so?” he questioned.

Opening the cuffs, Keller moved to the edge of the bed.

“Get on your knees, Caffrey,” he said, voice low and faintly threatening.

Noting the bulge forming fast in the other man’s pants, eager to see the cuffs put to use, and approving thoroughly of the turn things had taken, Neal complied.

“Hands behind your head,” Keller growled, Neal again following the command. Keller stood, moving behind Neal and grabbing one slim wrist firmly. Twisting his arm roughly behind his back, Keller cuffed it tightly, repeating the action with Neal’s other arm. Circling back around Neal, he unzipped, freeing his cock before taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

Spreading his legs wide, Keller stared down at Neal.

“Well? You know what comes next, convict,” he said lasciviously.

Keller knew how Neal loved to be told; how he needed to be taken in hand and forced into doing things he wanted but was too much of a gentleman to ask for. He also knew why Neal had the cuffs, and Keller found the other man’s Fed fetish more than a little strange, but if a combination of the two factors could get him one of Neal’s blue-ribbon standard blow jobs, who was he to complain? Neal shuffled forward, the edge of the towel getting caught under his knee, causing it to slip off as he shifted closer.

The sight of a cuffed Neal Caffrey on his knees for him was more than enough to bring Keller to full hardness, and he wanted nothing more than to grab Caffrey by the hair and force him to take his whole cock down that pretty throat.

Neal’s own cock was free now and bobbing as he shifted to the edge of the bed and lowered his head, licking Keller’s tip, which was already leaking precum. Positioning himself carefully between the other man’s knees, aiming for the best possible angle, Neal looked up through long dark lashes at Keller’s face, and then slowly took the thick cock into his mouth.

Keller leant back, supporting himself with his hands and watching Caffrey lazily. It didn’t take long for the carefully precise series of licks and sucks and the obscene noises Neal was making to have precum flooding out of him, and suddenly it wasn’t enough, he needed more.

Thrusting his hips forward, he forced more of his length into Caffrey's mouth. Neal’s eyes lifted to meet his, something akin to a dare sparkling in his blue-as-blue irises. He sucked sharply, and Keller gasped, giving up the semblance of self-control he had been trying to maintain and grabbing Caffrey by the back of his head, shoving his head down until his nose was buried in coarse dark hair.

Neal choked as the full length of Keller’s cock was pushed in, the head hitting the back of his throat. Cuffed as he was, Neal could do little to help himself, and Keller released some of his pressure to let Neal suck in a few breaths through his nose. Then, without warning or any force from Keller, Neal swallowed him down deeply, the sensation of Neal’s throat tight around him bringing Keller to the brink. Caffrey’s silver tongue still moved against the underside of his cock, and Keller moaned deeply.  _Fuck_ , he was good at that.

Shifting his knees the slightest bit, Neal swallowed again, and with a twist of his tongue and another sharp suck, Keller’s hips bucked as he exploded down Neal’s throat. He kept swallowing, lifting his head slightly, licking and sucking off the come as he pulled back and rested on his heels. Keller flopped back onto the bed, legs going slack as Neal shuffled back and slid down to sit more comfortably. The cuffs bit into his wrists and his cock was hard and dripping.

Soon after, Keller pushed himself up with a sigh, standing and pulling his pants up enough that he could walk to the bathroom and clean up. He looked down at Neal, who met his gaze expectantly. The muscles in his arms were tense, their position surely getting uncomfortable. Keller glanced at the other man’s cock, and then back to his face.

“You can finish yourself off, yeah?” he asked. “After you get out of those cuffs, of course.”

And then he walked away.

 

  
[ _Happy Birthday (Watching You Watching Me)_ ](http://www.archiveofourown.org/works/840116)

 

  
_**10\. The One With The Post-Job High** _

Peter drove home from staking out Caffrey’s apartment much quicker than he should have, but if anyone had stopped him, his badge was as good an excuse as any. Explaining why his car reeked of come may not have been quite so easy, but fortunately, he made it back to Brooklyn without incident. Pulling up outside his house, he grabbed his briefcase. His hand hovered briefly over the empty coffee cup in the holder, but hey, that could wait. Rushing to the front door, he tossed his case onto the sofa as he loosened his tie. Some of the other agents had stirred him in the past about wearing ties on all-night stake-outs, but Peter had always insisted it was about maintaining an air of professionalism. So much for that.

*

Taking the stairs two at a time, he was so distracted as he fumbled with his buttons that he nearly collided with El, who had started making her way down after hearing him arrive.

“Hey sweetie,” she greeted him with a kiss. “You’re home early… everything okay?”

Peter nodded as he finished with the buttons.

“Yep,” he replied, reaching up from where he stood on the step below and kissing her deeply.

Pulling away for air, El smiled cheekily, excited. Peter was usually tired after these long nights working, but he seemed anything but tonight.

“I think someone might be ready for their birthday present…” she teased, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground.

“Oh, I am more than ready,” he growled, planting his hands on her hips and turning them so her back was pressed against the wall. He kissed her again, rubbing himself against her with an insistence that had El surprised. She reached for his belt, unfastening it and his fly in quick succession. One hand pushed his pants down as the other slipped inside his boxers, and she smiled into the kiss as she discovered just how ready Peter really was.

“We should take this to the bedroom,” she whispered against his lips as one of his hands grazed up the inside of her thigh.

“I think here will be just fine,” he breathed, turning them again and lowering El until she was sitting on the edge of one step, leaning back. She giggled, bracing herself with a hand as Peter lowered himself over her, careful not to place all his weight on her body. His hand reached under her slip to find, slightly surprisingly, she wasn’t wearing panties.

Looking up at her curiously, he raised an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t wrong, was I?” she offered mischievously, and the colour on her cheeks and brightness of her eyes was too much for Peter, who hiked up the satin and pushed into her in one smooth movement.

El arched under him and moaned his name as he slowly pulled out again, and then started thrusting roughly. Peter was no small man, and oh, did she love it.

His arms were braced either side of her body, his biceps tensed and bulging as he supported his weight and continued to drive into her hard enough to leave her breathless. She’d have bruises from the steps in the morning, but it was a small price to pay for the best fuck they’d had in a long time.

She gasped, rocking her hips rhythmically to meet every deep stroke, feeling a wave of heat flush through her and knowing she was close.

“Peter… oh,  _God_ , Peter!” she breathed his name like a prayer as she came hard enough to leave her seeing stars, Peter stiffening and shooting deep inside of her.

Exhausted, he relaxed, more of his weight pressing down on El, who groaned slightly as the edge of a step dug into her ribs. He rolled over off her, resting his ass on one step and leaning against the balustrade of the staircase.

Turning his head towards her, he smiled as he caught his breath. It had been a while since they’d done anything like that.

“So, honey, how was your birthday?” El asked with a grin.

“Hmmm…” he pondered, an image of Caffrey being fucked against the railing of his balcony flashing unbidden across his vision, followed in quick succession by the face of his wife as she orgasmed under him only moments earlier.

“Might’ve been my best yet.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

****

**_11\. The One With The Sucker, Part 2_**  
  
It was done.  
  
After years of cat and mouse, of Peter closing the gap and Neal widening it again, finally, he had won. Caffrey had been arrested; they had him for the bonds. Peter knew of at least a dozen other pies Neal had had his fingers in, but he also knew they’d never make any of it stick – the bonds were the only nail they had to take to trial, but would likely be enough to hold the coffin shut for a couple of years at least.  
  
As his team led Caffrey out of the warehouse, he turned and watched the young man go. He didn’t resist; seemingly having accepted that the game was over. He hadn’t fought back, or tried to run – the dozens of guns pointed at him, which Peter had personally felt were slightly unnecessary – had made sure of that.  
  
Reaching into his pocket, Peter felt the edge of the plastic packet there. He hesitated slightly – he had been waiting for this moment for some time, but a certain dream (or series of dreams, if he was honest) had made him think twice about ever actually eating the sucker Caffrey had given him the day they’d first met.  
  
Pushing the thoughts and the mental images aside, he pulled the lolly out, removed the plastic, and popped it into his mouth. It didn’t taste as good as he was sure Neal did, but it would have to do.  
  
For now, at least.

 

 

  
  
 ** _12\. The One With The Cuffs, Part 5_**  
   
Considering they had just arrested Neal Caffrey, one of the most sought after white-collar criminals on the Bureau’s radar, Peter was oddly angry. He couldn’t quite understand it himself at first, as he ran over paperwork and tied up loose ends in the case. Neal was behind bars, their three year cat-and-mouse battle over at last, and he had come out on top.  
  
And it was then that he figured it out. He’d been cheated. Not by Caffrey, but by a member of his own team. After all that time imagining what it would be like to close those cuffs around Neal’s wrists (in his head, a little looser than they should have been, because Caffrey was not a man of violence; but in reality, a little tighter than normal, because he had a hell of a talent for picking locks), his moment of glory, the definitive action that would show the conman who had won, had been taken away. As Neal extended his hand, and the team surrounding him had cocked their guns, Peter had seen nothing but respect in his eyes – Caffrey was accepting defeat graciously. And then, as he thanked Peter, there had been that tell-tale click-ratchet sound – and suddenly he was cuffed, and Peter didn’t even get to do it.  
  
Fucking Jones.

 

 

  
  
 ** _13\. The One With The Cuffs, Part 6_**  
   
Neal sat in his cell, staring unseeingly at the grey wall across from his face. The trial date was set; the reality of what was happening slowly sinking in. He had thought he was prepared, when he had walked into that warehouse, knowing he was walking into a trap. He had told himself it was okay, it was right, that he would take what was coming to him in court, fight what was coming to him in prison, and soon enough, he’d be out again. The Feds could only prove the bonds – he was fairly sure, anyway. He thought back over how the day of his arrest had unfolded.  
  
*  
  
There hadn’t been a chase, he hadn’t fought them off. They had stormed the building and he had conceded; prepared to admit after three years of running that Burke had caught him fair and square. He had offered a hand for Burke to shake, and felt the slightest of shivers run down his spine when the other man had gripped his hand firmly, and met his eyes, with a slightly sad smile that seemed to say  _it was fun while it lasted_.  
  
And then he felt the cool metal on his wrist as one of Peter’s agents closed the first cuff. It wasn’t like that day he’d watched Peter manhandle someone, throwing them up against his car and pinning them. It  _certainly_ wasn’t like how he’d dreamed it, or how Keller had played it… The cuffs were just like Peter’s; just like he’d known they’d be. They were boring, and they were realistic, and the whole thing was so fucking far from perfect it made Neal sick.

 

 

  
   
 ** _14\. The One With The Cuffs, Part 7_**  
   
Neal’s face was expressionless, his eyes unreadable, as his sentence was announced. Four years wasn’t a long time, they’d say; he’d still be young when he got out. He looked down at his hands, eyes firmly focused on the loops of chain between his cuffed wrists. He was trying hard to maintain his unaffected façade, and he’d be damned if he let the people in that courtroom see his face as the mask began to crack around the edges. If he let  _Burke_ see.  
  
*  
  
Peter watched Caffrey closely, waiting for a reaction from the other man as his fate was announced. He didn’t know what he expected to see – relief? Sadness? Shock? Anger? Fear? But as Neal’s features remained firmly schooled in a calm and decidedly nonchalant expression, Peter realised he had never been going to see a reaction. It wouldn’t have mattered how hard he’d looked – Neal had made his living out of only letting people see what he wanted them to, and he certainly wouldn’t let that skill go to waste here, in front of a room full of people who had come to see him fall.  
  
Neal looked down towards his cuffed wrists, and Peter wondered if he was regretting now any of what he’d done. He briefly pondered what the next four years would hold for someone like Caffrey, and then pushed the thought aside as quickly as it had come to him. He didn’t want to think about what those years could be like.  
  
He watched as the guards stood Neal up and released one of the cuffs, moving his arms behind his back and securing them once more. It was only as they started to lead him away that Neal finally looked to Peter, who was still watching him closely. His gaze was now open, and Peter saw for the first time the maelstrom of emotions there. He could see all of the things he had wondered about earlier and more in the steel blue gaze. As Neal was led past him, Peter turned to watch them go.  
  
What a waste, Peter couldn’t help but think.

 

 

  
  
 ** _15\. The One Without Neal_**  
   
Every inch of her unclothed skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat as she rode him, moaning with pleasure and murmuring under her breath, “Neal…”  
  
*  
  
The tight heat around his cock had him close, but he held on, eyes closed tight but a vision of sparkling blue irises on the inside of his lids.  
  
*  
  
The angle was perfect, his cock moving just right inside of her, and she could feel the tingle low in her belly as climax neared. Straining her thighs for just a few more rocks back and forth of her hips, her back arched and she gasped for breath.  
  
*  
  
She threw her head back and moaned as her orgasm rolled over her, and as she clenched around him, he came, hands gripping her waist, the slender curve of it familiar and yet different.  
  
*  
  
Kate flopped down next to Keller, sated and spent. Neal wasn’t there, but it didn’t stop either of them wishing he was.

 

 

  
  
 ** _16\. The One With The Birthday Card_**  
   
El thought she recognised the handwriting on the cheap white envelope in the pile of mail she picked up off the doormat, but she couldn’t quite place it. The postmark was from upstate, but other than that, it had no distinguishing features. She set it on the counter with three other things addressed to Peter, and thought nothing more of it.  
  
*  
  
When Peter got home from work that night, he cracked a beer and sat down at the table with his mail. He opened the first two envelopes to find bills, as was far too often the case. The third one held an invite to an old family friend’s 50th birthday party. He picked up the fourth and was stunned when he instantly recognised the handwriting on the white envelope. It was from Neal Caffrey.  
  
He turned the envelope over, half-expecting to see a return address, though he knew full well exactly where Neal was - the same place he’d already been for months, and where he’d be for a few years yet. Opening it, he pulled out a card, which when he turned it over, had a sketch on the front of a bright green sucker.  
  
He smiled, shaking his head slightly as he opened it to read the short message inside.  
  
 _Dear Peter,_  
  
 _I hope you have a wonderful birthday, spent with your family and friends, and not on a stake-out!_  
                     _(I still owe Mrs Burke an apology for that one year, I think.)_    
  
 _N.C._  
  
El came up behind the chair, leaning over to hug him, reading the card over his shoulder.  
  
“A birthday card from Neal Caffrey?” she said, surprised.  
  
“Yep,” Peter replied, setting it down on the table.  
  
“Well, he might think he owes me an apology, but I think I owe  _him_ a thank you,” she said in a teasing voice, as she kissed Peter’s neck. Sex on the stairs that night hadn’t been comfortable enough for them to give it another go, but it had certainly been memorable...  
  
“Sure was a hell of a night,” Peter nodded, smirking, as he reached up to stroke El’s hair. She may never know entirely how unforgettable that night had been.

 

 

  
   
 ** _17\. The One With The Birthday Card, Part 2_**  
   
When the guards called five minutes till lights out, Neal got up from where he was lying on his bed, and took up the marker, as had become his routine. Carefully, he added another line to the slowly growing tally on the wall of his cell. It already looked like a lot of lines, but it was nothing compared to how many more there were still waiting to be drawn.  
  
Dropping the marker back down, he flopped onto his thin mattress as Bobby, a guard he had struck up a tentative friendship with, walked past, checking on them all. Bobby nodded at him as he passed, Neal returning the gesture with a slight smile.  
  
Shortly after, when the lights shut off, Neal found himself in the familiar position of staring blankly upwards, mind wandering through all sorts of things as he sought sleep. Today was Peter Burke’s birthday, and he wondered if Peter had received his card. He smiled as he thought of the message it had contained, further wondering if Peter had ever told Elizabeth about the gift of sorts he had received from Neal that year.  
  
His hand moved slowly towards his cock, and he began stroking himself through his underwear, as he pictured Peter sitting in his car that night, probably bored out of his mind, until Neal and Keller had arrived home and put on their little show on the balcony. He wondered if Peter had liked what he’d seen, and let himself imagine that he’d gotten hard watching them; that after they had gone inside Peter had gone home and made love to his gorgeous wife.  
  
As Neal’s hand began to move faster, the fantasy played out again, darker this time. This time his version of Peter was intensely aroused by watching him be fucked like that; he was jerking himself off in his work car. And then he raced home, and thrust into his wife, pretending for just a split second that it was Neal. The sudden thought of having Burke’s thick cock in his ass was enough to tip Neal over the edge, his mouth opening in a silent moan as he came, leaving him gasping quietly for breath.  
  
He’d have been shocked to learn how close to the truth his dirty little fantasy really was.

 

 

  
  
 ** _18\. The One With The Next Birthday Card_**  
   
Peter might have thought he had hidden the effect Neal Caffrey had on him well, and from his colleagues, who knew of Caffrey only as a criminal, and who had probably given the conman no further thought since the day he was sent to prison, he had. However, Peter’s attempts to conceal his fascination with Neal were ineffective against the person who knew him best in the world – his wife.  
  
This year, when Peter’s birthday rolled around, El recognised the handwriting on the plain white envelope with the upstate postmark. Once again, she set it down with his other mail, and headed upstairs with a mischievous sparkle in her eye.  
  
*  
  
 _Dear Peter,_  
  
 _Happy Birthday! Enjoy every moment._  
  
 _(Make sure Mrs Burke does too.)_  
  
 _N.C._  
  
*  
  
Peter set down the card, and took a deep breath. Heading upstairs, he pulled a box out from under the bed, sat down, and removed the lid. His eyes flicked briefly over the business card, the cufflinks, and the envelopes. All the envelopes – he had quite a collection now. He felt a weight on the bed behind him and started slightly; he hadn’t heard El come out of the bathroom. He made to place the lid back on the box, but her hand on his arm, and soft kiss on his neck, stayed his hand.  
  
“It’s okay, Peter,” she murmured, kissing her way up from his loosened collar to just below his ear, her small fingers pulling at his buttons.  
  
“I know about Caffrey… and I know  _you_ know I know about him. About what he does to you,” she whispered. He shivered slightly; whether due to the pressure of her lips just behind his jaw, or her words, he wasn’t sure.  
  
She reached an arm around him to take the box, and drop it to the floor. As she leaned forward, he could feel her warmth against his back, and as a long, pale, unclothed arm snaked around him, Peter turned to see his wife clad only in a midnight blue lace bra and panties. Turning more fully towards her, and pushing himself further into the middle of the bed, he let out an appreciative moan as she straddled his lap, one hand squeezing the rapidly forming bulge in the front of his trousers.  
  
“Do you think of him? Do you look in your little box, and think of him thinking of you..? Do you want him, Peter?” She was massaging his hard cock through his pants, and he was lost for words.  
  
“Do you imagine that he wants you back? That he gets hard when he thinks of you, making you those cards? That he gets off thinking of you?” His fly was open now, and she was stroking him just right, teasing him with her hand and her words.  
  
“Is this for him, Peter?” she said, squeezing hard. He gasped, shuddering under her as she let her fingernails drag over the sensitive tissue. “Is this for him, or is this for me, talking about him?”  
  
Peter was utterly speechless, hardly able to comprehend what was happening. His wife. Asking him about Neal. Knowing the truth about Neal.  
  
Slipping her hand from his pants, she pushed him down until he was on his back, his hands gripping her hips as she leaned over to kiss him deeply. Breaking away, she whispered against his lips,  
  
“I  _know_ you think of him... I  _know_ you want him. Fuck me, Peter… like you want to fuck him.”  
  
She was laying over him now, and her words spurred Peter into action. It took only one quick motion to turn the two of them over. Coming up on to his knees, Peter shoved his pants down further, pulled the lace of her panties aside, and pushed into her. She gripped the bedspread as he went deeper, before pulling out and thrusting back in.  
  
“Harder, Peter. You know he could take it,” she taunted, and Peter sped up his thrusts, pounding into her, lost in his fantasy of a different blue-eyed brunette.  
  
“Say it, Peter. Say his name,” she gasped, as she shook beneath him, and the fact that Peter breathed ‘Neal’ as he shot his load deep inside her didn’t make her orgasm even the slightest bit less satisfying.

 

 

  
  
 ** _19\. The One With The Jailbreak_**  
   
Every detail had been meticulously planned; and six weeks of preparation all came down to this moment. Neal had considered his options for breaking out of prison many times over the course of the last few years, mostly in the first few months, but until he had something to kick him into action, the way Kate announcing she was leaving him had, he hadn’t bothered acting on any of his plans. But today was the day, and as he roughly shaved the beard he had been growing since the day Kate had made her last visit, and donned a guard’s uniform, the reality of what he was doing hit home. He was about to break out of a federal prison. If they caught him after this, he’d be back in for at least his original sentence again, possibly longer.  
  
Pushing aside the doubts, he smiled slightly as he buttoned the shirt, and imagined what Burke would say. Because, of course, Burke would hear about this. He’d be the warden’s first call. Neal almost regretted, for a moment, not using the credit card details he had gotten for Mrs Burke to buy the CO’s uniform -  _that_ would have gotten a priceless reaction from Peter. But in the end, he had thought it best not to, because surely Peter, the thorough agent and caring and protective husband that he was, would have traces on all of his wife’s credit card activity.  
  
Patting his face dry, hiding his jumpsuit, and putting on his game face, Neal braced himself. It was time for the moment of truth.  
  
*  
  
If there was one thing Neal really hadn’t counted on in the whole process (aside from Kate not being at the apartment after his escape had otherwise gone off without a hitch, of course), it was that Burke still knew him well enough, after all this time, to catch him before he’d even had the chance to start running.

 

 

  
  
 ** _20\. The One With The Van_**  
   
Hughes told Peter he didn’t have to go on the stake-out the night after he went to visit Caffrey, back in prison once again after his escape. There were plenty of other agents who could handle it - now that he was dealing with Caffrey again; Peter had several cases on the go at once, which wasn’t ideal. But, ever committed to closing his cases, and not wanting someone else to have to take his place at late notice, he insisted it was fine, and went along on the surveillance mission with Diana and two other agents who were trialling with the White Collar Unit.  
  
As Peter sat, gazing at the monitor but not really seeing, his mind began to wander. Safe in the knowledge that the younger agents were eager to please and wouldn’t dare miss the slightest detail, he allowed himself to ponder Caffrey’s proposition. It wasn’t as if it was unheard of, a convict getting a reduced sentence or early parole in return for providing information, but Caffrey actually wanted out of the orange altogether, which was a different situation.  
  
In his head he could see the way those sparkling eyes had pleaded with him to listen to the offer, to take him away from that hellhole and give him a chance to prove himself. Sad thing was, Caffrey had already proven himself – and not in a good way. Peter considered the possibility of offering him a reduction in his sentence to feed them information, but he knew almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind that it wouldn’t work. Caffrey was smart, smart enough to get away with it, but somewhere along the line, there always seemed to be someone with too big a mouth for their own (and everyone else’s) good, and he hated to think what could happen if Neal was discovered as an informant while still on the inside.  
  
“Boss?” Diana’s voice interrupted his darkening thoughts, and he sat up, alert once more. He had been miles away, lost entirely in his own contemplations.  
  
“I was just saying, don’t you think Harris and Fauber should head out? There’s nothing to see here tonight.” The two looked up, something that might have been hope creeping into their expressions.  
  
“Sure,” Peter nodded after a few moments, his experienced eyes seeing the tiredness and boredom that the younger agents were failing to completely hide. He smiled slightly; not everyone was cut out for the van. “Thanks for your help tonight guys,” he said, as the two men collected their belongings and exited the van just a little too quickly.  
  
“You should go too, Diana,” he said, turning back to her. “Like you said, nothing to see here. I’ll see out the hour and call it a night; you may as well go now.”  
  
Diana was better at hiding it, but Peter could see she was glad to be done for the evening. Surveillance is incredibly boring when you have nothing to survey.  
  
“You sure?” she asked, already putting on her jacket.  
  
“Yeah, go,” Peter said with a smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”  
  
When the door closed behind Diana, Peter relaxed back in his chair and removed the set of headphones he had had resting in his lap. They had done a pretty commendable job of hiding the hard-on he had gotten when he was picturing himself, in the shoes of another prisoner, putting Neal up against the wall of the shower and ripping the orange jumpsuit off the FBI’s new pet.  
  
He was going to have to give this a hell of a lot of thought before he dared let Caffrey come and work for him. Seeing that face (those eyes, that ass) every day had the potential to be very disruptive to Peter’s productivity.


	3. Chapter 3

****

**_21\. The One With The Showers_**  
   
Peter was standing behind Neal, the younger man’s cheek pressed up against the cold white tile of the shower block. The mental picture that had turned Peter on in the van was now playing out in full technicolour behind his eyelids - only this time, it took a darker turn.  
   
“Neal…” Peter started, but Neal shook his head, silencing him.  
   
“Just do it,” he said through what sounded like gritted teeth.  
   
With no other options available, Peter sucked on his own fingers, hoping they’d be slick enough for this to be anything less than excruciating for Neal. He prepped him quickly, trying hard to ignore the small sounds of discomfort Neal was trying hard to muffle.  
   
He gave himself another few strokes, trying to spread some of his precum over his cock to ease the way. Neal leant forward, and Peter lined himself up and slowly started to push in.  
    
*  
   
 _God_ , did it hurt. Neal’s breath caught in his throat and he struggled to bite back a cry, stunned by how much it burned. His heart was pounding. As Peter pushed in deeper, Neal tensed, his body trying to resist the invasion, to stop the pain. The tears that had lingered unshed in his eyes spilled over as he tried not to choke, holding back the sounds fighting to escape.  
   
*  
   
As Peter slowly pulled out, he hoped the fluid leaking from the head of his cock would be enough to make things smoother on his next push in. From the gasped moan that Neal couldn’t contain when he rocked forward, it clearly hadn’t.  
   
The searing heat of Neal tight around him was astounding, but Neal’s sounds of distress compelled Peter to stop, unwilling to hurt him any further.  
   
“Neal, I can’t,” Peter whispered against the back of his neck. “I’m hurting you, please…”  
   
“It doesn’t matter, Peter,” Neal whispered, his voice broken. “I can take it, I promise…”  
   
Shaking his head, Peter pulled out as carefully as he could; running a hand gently over the tight muscles of Neal’s back and trying to soothe him. His erection flagged, his heart sinking.  
   
“It matters, Neal…  _You_ matter,” Peter murmured, turning Neal around and lifting his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. The odd mixture of fear, defiance, pain and resignation Peter saw there shocked him deeply.  
   
*  
   
He woke with a start, feeling sick to his stomach as he relived the dream. He had dreamed of Caffrey before, many times, but never like that. Never so explicitly, never of hurting him, violating him that way. The thought of the young man enduring such a thing, at anyone’s hands, disgusted Peter; what prison may have been like for him was something he had always very carefully avoided thinking about – but now it seemed his subconscious was forcing him to consider the harsh reality of Neal’s situation.  
   
His mind, it seemed, had made itself up. On Monday, he would fax off the necessary documentation for Caffrey’s release, and contact the marshals about a tracking anklet.  
   
He had just gotten himself a consultant.

 

 

  
 ** _22\. The One With The Devore_**  
   
“This is classic Rat Pack. This is a Devore.”  
   
Neal looked obscenely pleased with himself as he stood before Peter, turning on his heel and adjusting the fedora that sat at a jaunty angle on his head.  
   
Peter was disbelieving as he took in the sight before him.  _Damn_ was Caffrey a sight for sore eyes.  
   
He made a joke about the suit, insisted his mood was nothing to do with how much better Neal’s coffee was than his, and shooed the younger man out to the car. They hardly needed to be late on Neal’s first day; Peter had a lot riding on the success of this experiment.  
   
When they arrived at the airport, Peter introduced Diana to Neal, and leaving him with her, excused himself, blaming the coffee. Entering the bathroom, he looked around quickly, confirming it was empty, before running his hands under the freezing cold water and locking himself in a cubicle. Unzipping, he wrapped his ice cold hands around his half-hard cock, willing away the erection that had been slowly swelling since he had watched Caffrey swagger down those stairs in that close-cut suit.  
   
If Neal was going to be sticking around, Peter was going to have to figure out a way to deal with this.

 

 

  
     
 ** _23\. The One Where That Old Dream Comes True_**  
   
“Arrest them. Arrest them! We have to keep their cover. Handcuff them, read them their rights, everything,” Peter demanded, as he called orders to the rest of his team to pursue Dorsett.  
   
*  
   
A hand was planted firmly in the centre of his back and Neal was shoved hard against the car. Taryn stood beside him, wrists already pinned behind her, as Peter came out of the building behind them.  
   
As Peter barked instructions into the radio in his hand, Neal allowed another agent to pull his arms back firmly, leaning against the car and rolling his eyes slightly as the other man closed the cuffs tightly and checked them carefully. He certainly was being thorough.  
   
The other agent shifted away slightly, and moments later, Neal felt a warm, strong hand grip one of his wrists and the chain that linked them, pulling him away from the car as the door was opened.   
   
“You’re under arrest,” Peter growled, pushing Neal’s head down and shoving him into the back of the car. A mischievous grin shone in his eyes as Peter’s firm grip pressed the metal of the cuffs into the skin of his wrist, and a distant memory of a day a long time ago when Neal had watched Peter throw someone up against a car and cuff them came back to him. He’d always wanted to be that person – his real arrest hadn’t played out that way, but today was almost making up for it… He was lucky Peter wasn’t the one to tell him he had the right to remain silent, or Taryn might have seen just how interesting things really get when Neal Caffrey is around.

 

  
     
    
 ** _24\. The One With The Vault_**  
   
“Peter. I trust you.” Neal implored him to take the mini-breather as the vault’s security mechanisms kicked in and the oxygen was rapidly sucked from the chamber.  
   
The two of them rushed around the room, sliding the framed comics out of the way, shoving boxes aside, and frantically searching for the kill switch.  
   
Neal could feel the air getting thinner; could feel the faint burn in his lungs as the oxygen levels dropped. Finally, he found the switch, trying to catch Peter’s attention but unable to. When Peter turned at last, it was in time to see Neal gasping for breath, but unable to get the air his body so badly needed. As he pointed to the switch, his legs began to give, and he fell slowly to the floor, unconscious before he hit the carpet.  
   
Peter rushed to Neal’s side of the room, ready to hit the switch, desperate to help him, knowing he needed oxygen fast. Trying and failing to rouse Neal, he looked up towards the door and felt a cold shiver run through him as Avery took aim at his defenceless partner. Drawing his gun, he hoped to God Jones and the team had moved in when the switch was tripped.  
   
Everything happened so fast. As he brought his hand down on the button, and braced himself to take Avery out, Jones stormed through, cries of “ _FBI! Drop your weapon!_ ” resonating through the hallway and vault.  
   
As Avery dropped his gun and surrendered, Peter knelt beside Neal, his heart skipping madly even as he maintained his cool exterior. Feeling for Neal’s breathing and confirming its absence, he placed both hands low on his sternum, hoping against hope that the careful pressure combined with the influx of fresh air into the vault would coax Neal’s lungs back into action.  
   
Moments later, Neal coughed and gasped, sucking in deep breaths as his eyes flickered around the room, slightly unfocused, before settling on Peter. The agent felt a wave of relief wash over him as he looked down at his partner. He had made it in time, and with a bit of luck, the worst the younger man would have to show for the whole incident would be a splitting headache.  
   
Even as Neal came round fully, his chest rising and falling regularly once more, Peter’s hand lingered. With the warm solidness of Neal’s body and steadily beating heart under his palm, Peter’s own could finally resume its normal rhythm.

 

 

  
    
 ** _25\. The One With The Cuffs, Part 8_**  
   
Peter could hear the singing. He knew it was Neal – he just didn’t know why.  
   
His heart skipped a beat as he entered Dr Powell’s office and saw Neal. His lean body strapped down, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his voice faltering as he sang.  
   
Neal turned towards Peter, greeting him in a crazed and carefree tone, pupils blown. Peter moved hurriedly to his young partner’s side. It was clear he was on something; the rolled up shirtsleeves and puncture wound in the crook of his elbow confirming the agent’s suspicion and fear.  
   
Peter’s hands hovered, hushing Neal and taking stock of the situation. Neal didn’t seem concerned about his predicament, which only served to make Peter more so. He placed a hand lightly on Neal’s body; he could feel the warmth. He had the sudden urge to run his hand down the lithe torso laid out before him. There was something about the bonds around those slender wrists, the vulnerability…  
   
Shaking his head slightly, Peter reminded himself to stay focused.  
   
“We have to get you out of these restraints,” he said, looking around for anything he could use to free Neal.  
   
But suddenly, somehow, Neal  _was_ free, and Peter was carrying him. The other man hung off him, clingy and confused, as they staggered down corridor after corridor. Neal was muttering things Peter couldn’t make sense of, interspersed with the occasional half-line of song.  
   
They made it to a large conference room, but what little strength Neal had was waning, and he slumped to the floor. Peter pulled him up, panicking for a moment that the other man had passed out. Neal was heavier than he looked; there was no way Peter was getting him out of there if he was unconscious. To Peter’s relief, Neal’s fever-blue eyes met his brightly.  
   
The combination of shock, fear and adrenaline had Peter on edge, and it surfaced as anger as he scolded Neal. However, as Neal spoke, perhaps more honestly than ever before to Peter, the older man felt some of his anger fade, to be replaced by concern. Granted, Neal’s letting down of his guard had come with some chemical assistance, but that was beside the point. He had told Peter he trusted him, more than anyone else in the world, and Peter couldn’t just let that go.  
   
A crazy idea came into Peter’s head. Even as he thought of it, he knew it was mad, but it was something he had to do. The image of Neal, restrained and at the mercy of anyone who might have come in, flashed through his mind, and it almost scared him. Neal was  _his_ ; he had to protect him.  
   
Pulling a chair over to the window, Peter cuffed Neal to it – he wouldn’t have gotten far on his own on those legs, given the face-planting he had already done, as evidenced by the slight mark on one cheekbone that may or may not have been a carpet burn, but Peter had to do it. Neal watched him, but didn’t protest. There was nothing quite like watching his own large hand clamp that shining circle of cool metal around the slim wrist; around the very pulse of his Neal Caffrey.  
   
As he hurried away from the younger man, determined to steal the evidence that implicated him, it occurred to Peter that Neal may just have been a bad influence on him.

 

 

  
   
 ** _26\. The One With The Cuffs, Part 9_**  
   
Peter ran his hand down Neal’s body, feeling the muscles contract beneath his fingers, the warmth of Neal’s skin. He reached the belt, fingers lingering on the buckle momentarily, before unfastening it with nimble fingers. He pulled the zipper down, and slid his hand inside to cup Neal’s hardening length. Neal shifted, trying to better accommodate his building erection, and Peter heard an unusual clinking sound.  
   
Looking down at Neal, he suddenly realised the younger man was restrained, bonds holding him on the couch of what Peter now registered was Dr Powell’s office. As Peter squeezed, Neal squirmed, but was powerless to do anything to stop him. Peter’s heart sped up as the reality of the situation struck him… he had Neal at his mercy, unable to escape or act to stop him.  
   
It was a thrilling thought.  
   
He slowly ran his thumb along Neal’s cock, relishing the way Neal shivered, the helpless sound he made in his throat. Peter watched Neal’s face as he stroked a hand up and down his length; watched the way Neal’s darkened eyes slid closed; the way he licked his perfect lips. Peter sped up, and Neal bit down, but couldn’t contain his moan of pleasure as Peter’s fingers brushed over the leaking head of his cock. His hands clenched into fists, as Peter rapidly pulled him closer to the edge. Gasping for breath as his back arched, he yanked sharply at his bonds as he came.  
   
*  
   
This wasn’t the first or the last time Peter would dream of Neal in cuffs, but it was the first time Caffrey had ruined a set of El’s good sheets.

 

 

  
   
 ** _27\. The One With The Cuffs, Part 10 (or, The One With The First Kiss)_**  
   
Peter had tracked Collins and his cronies to the docks using Neal’s tracking data; thankfully, they hadn’t discovered the anklet. He had alerted his team, but hadn’t been able to wait for them; who knew what was happening to Neal in the meantime? He parked behind one of the warehouses and ran down the side, towards the water and the sound of raised voices. Slowing as he reached the corner, he peered around, in time to see one of the men pull out a gun and point it at Neal. The younger man’s hands were behind his back, apparently bound, and though Peter couldn’t hear his words, it was clear Neal was trying to talk his way out of his seemingly impending death. One of the others said something, the one with the gun responding without turning. Neal appeared to be protesting again, but clearly to no avail, as the much bigger man swung his hand, striking Neal across the temple with the gun.  
   
Peter watched, horrified, as Neal fell back, unconscious, disappearing over the edge. One of the others laughed, and together they turned, walking back to their SUV. They seemed in no hurry, which was in stark contrast to Peter, who was fighting the urge to race to the edge and look for his partner. Finally, they were gone, and Peter sprinted from his position to where Neal had fallen.  
   
He could see Neal, face down in the water. Without a second thought, he jumped in, kicking off the wall and reaching Neal in seconds. The water was freezing, and had Peter gasping as he dragged Neal to the edge and up the access ladder to the dock above.  
   
Neal was still, deathly so. Peter’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried unsuccessfully to rouse his partner. His hair was dripping wet and messy; lips pale, almost blue. He wasn’t breathing. Fumbling for his own cuffs in their leather holder, Peter was relieved to find the key still present in its own compartment, and with shaking hands, he freed Neal’s wrists.  
   
Peter turned him quickly, tilting his head back and starting mouth to mouth. The EMTs were too far away, and Neal didn’t have the time. How long had he been in the water?  
   
“Come on Neal, come on…” he murmured, slapping his partner’s face lightly, trying to bring him round. He didn’t respond, and Peter delivered several more breaths.  
   
After what felt to Peter like a scarily long time, Neal choked and starting coughing violently. Peter turned him onto his side as his lungs forcefully expelled the water they had taken in. He groaned, trying to push himself up, but weakened from oxygen deprivation, he failed.  
   
Peter pulled him up, holding him firmly. He could feel Neal’s muscles tensing as he coughed; feel the shivers wracking his body he was so cold. He could _see_ the muscles through Neal’s shirt; almost see-through with the water. Peter registered the sound of sirens in the distance as he looked Neal over. A bruise had started to form on the side of his face, and there was a cut above his brow that was bleeding sluggishly. Dark lashes clumping, Neal lifted his eyes to Peter’s face.  
   
Clearing this throat, Neal spoke.  
   
“Thank you, Peter.” His voice was hoarse, but his gratitude still evident.  
   
Peter shook his head, rubbing Neal’s arm in a futile attempt to warm him up.  
   
“It was nothing,” he responded gruffly with a shrug.  
   
“No, it wasn’t. You saved my life. So, thank you.”  
   
Peter watched Neal for a moment, the slightly sluggish way his lips moved, and nodded slowly.  
   
“You’re welcome,” he replied with a slight smile. “Any time.”  
   
Neal smiled back, and suddenly, Peter was kissing him. His lips felt hot against Neal’s cold ones, which still tasted faintly of salt from the water. There was nothing like realising he’d nearly lost his chance to spur Peter into action. There was a note of desperation in the way he kissed Neal, gripping his arm, holding him upright, and holding him close.  
   
Neal relaxed, the tension in his body slowly falling away. He didn’t have the strength to resist. He wouldn’t have wanted to if he could.  
   
Peter pulled away as the sirens grew louder, indicating the imminent arrival of his back-up. Neal was short of breath, his eyes wide.  
   
“Thank you,” he murmured again.  
   
Peter quirked an eyebrow and grinned.  
   
“You’re welcome… Any time.”  
   
   
   
[ _The Laundry Room_](http://www.archiveofourown.org/works/823369l)  
   
   
   
 ** _28\. The One With The Dirty Slacks_**  
   
El was heading towards the kitchen when she heard a door close, turning to see Peter emerging from the laundry.  
   
“Everything okay hon?” she asked.  
   
“Oh, yeah, just helping Neal, he couldn’t find the stain remover,” he said, making his way towards the stairs.  
   
“Oh, okay. Does he need anything else? Did you show him how to use the washer?”  
   
“He’s all over it, sweetie,” Peter smiled, and quickly headed upstairs, hoping he didn’t have a wet patch on the outside of his pants.  
   
Several minutes later, Peter reappeared, in different clothes, and El looked up at him. Before she had a chance to comment, Peter said quickly,  
   
“Thought I’d best change out of those dirty clothes. Anything I can do for dinner?”  
   
Hearing the laundry door once more, they both turned to see Neal emerge, shirt slightly wrinkled and with several marks remaining on it, tucked into his still partly-muddied trousers. He held his jacket in front of him, and smiled when he saw them both looking.  
   
“Everything okay?” El found herself asking again.  
   
“Yeah, yes,” Neal replied. “I just realised the time though, and I have something I have to do tonight, so I thought I’d better go… I can clean these later,” he added, as he saw El’s eyes glancing at the dirt still splattered over one leg of the pants.  
   
“Are you sure? I’ve made lasagne, you’re welcome to have some before you go,” she offered temptingly.  
   
To be honest, Neal was hungry if he thought about it. But there was something very wrong about sitting down to eat with the two of them after Peter had just jerked him off with El practically in the next room.  
   
“I’m sorry Elizabeth, it smells fantastic, it really does, but I should go before Moz starts worrying,” he joked. “Enjoy your dinner,” he said with a smile, insisting he could see himself out.  
   
El and Peter still followed him, and he said goodbye once again as he stepped out, heading down the street a little way to find a cab. As they stood together on the stoop, watching Neal go, he turned back and waved. Peter hugged El as they headed back inside.  
   
“Let’s eat hon, I’m starving,” he said, as they made their way to the kitchen.  
   
“I’m just going to pop my things in the washer while you serve up,” Peter said, as he went to retrieve the things he’d left in their bathroom upstairs. Grabbing them, he headed back down to the laundry, letting the door close behind him.  
   
He really hoped he could find something strong enough in here to cover the scent of sex that still lingered in the air.

 

 

  
   
 ** _29\. The One With The Dirty Slacks, Part 2_**  
   
Moz could still remember the days when Neal had hated suits. When he’d looked uncomfortable and awkward in whatever cheap, off-the-rack thing he'd picked up - or some not so cheap, tailored-but-not-for-him piece he'd picked up on some sucker's unknowing behalf. Now, you could be forgiven for thinking Neal was born to wear a three-piece suit. After all, in their line of work, image was everything…  
   
Which was what made it all the more noticeable and surprising when Neal burst in, eyes shining and cheeks slightly flushed, with mud all over one leg of his pants. He strolled over to the table where Moz sat, picking up the tumbler sitting before him and taking a gulp of what turned out to be gin.  
   
“Easy, there,” Moz said, snatching up the now almost empty glass. Neal grinned, and headed off towards the bathroom.  
   
Moz was thoroughly perplexed. Why was  _he_ so happy? And why were his trousers dirty? Or, more to the point, why were only  _half_ of his trousers dirty? Shaking his head slightly, Moz sipped at what was left of his drink.  
   
He had only been at work, and then he’d said he was heading to the Suit’s house –  
   
Oh.  _Oh._  
   
Moz added another measure to the glass and downed it in one.  _Crap._

 

 

  
   
 ** _30\. The One With The Flashback_**  
   
If anyone had asked him out of the blue, Peter would have said he didn’t remember how long it had been since the Caffrey-Keller-Ramsey case. He wasn’t chasing Neal anymore, so it wasn’t of any consequence anyway.  
   
If you asked him to think about it, he’d say, oh yes, he did remember, because he had staked out the apartment Caffrey and Keller shared on the night of his 42 nd birthday.  
   
But if he was honest with you, really honest, he’d have to admit that he remembered that case – that night – like it was last night. Today’s arrest at the helipad had only enhanced his recollection of that night, refreshed the memory of Keller’s distinctive accent, how his voice contrasted with Neal’s.  
   
The scene played back in his mind as he sat on the couch with a beer, Satchmo at his feet. He had the game on, and El was out for dinner with the girls. The background noise of the commentators faded out, just as his audio feed had that night.  
   
*  
   
 _The audio feed faded out, and Peter sat up with a start. What was going on?_  
   
 _He did a double take as he looked up and saw Neal stumble backwards out on to the balcony, pulling the other man with him. As they hit the railing, Keller turned Neal around, taking something Neal had pulled from the pocket of his pants, before he had shed them._  
   
 _He watched, transfixed, as Keller bent Neal over the railing and started fucking him, hard._  
   
 _*_  
   
He could still see every detail, as clearly as he’d seen it all those years ago.  
   
Neal’s cock, trapped against the glass as Keller thrust into him, again and again. The way his hands slid on the metal railing, bending him further forward. The way he arched under Keller, throwing his head back as he shot onto the glass.  
   
Peter’s arousal was growing, just with the memory of it. And then he thought of how he and El had fucked on the stairs when he got home. That had been a  _damn_ fine birthday.  
   
Satchmo barked, and ran to the door, moments before there was a loud knock.  
   
 _Shit._ His pizza was here.


	4. Chapter 4

****

**_31\. The One With The Green Light_**  
   
Peter had hurried home from Neal’s, hoping to get in before El did. She’d had an especially busy week with work, and it was his turn to cook. To his dismay, however, he could smell something cooking when Satchmo greeted him at the door. Heading in, he sighed slightly as he thought of what he was going to say.  
   
El turned as he entered the kitchen, smiling at him. She left the stove, crossing the room and kissing him.  
   
‘Hey hon,” he said. “Sorry I’m late, I know tonight’s my turn, I got caught up with… a work thing.”  
   
“A work thing?” she said, sounding faintly amused. “Or, a Neal thing..?”  
   
He didn’t respond, not knowing what he should say.  
   
“I know where you were, Peter,” she said softly, a small smile forming on her lips as she shook her head. “It’s sweet that you think you can hide things from me.”  
   
Peter felt his face heat up slightly. He had no idea what her reaction would be; and whether she really knew what had happened or if she was bluffing to get him to admit it.  
   
“I know it wasn’t the first time, and I know it won’t be the last… Just promise me we’re still okay.”  
   
“El, sweetie, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, I just…” Peter looked up at her from where he had been staring at his hands. He knew she knew how he felt; how he’d felt for years now. He was fairly certain she had probably known even before he did.  
   
“Well, it’s not like I can blame you,” she said cheekily, and Peter was stunned. “He’s gorgeous. And if he can give you something you need, and I can’t, then…”  
   
Peter shook his head at the last part.  
   
“You have always been able to give me everything I need, and more. I love you, more than I could ever tell you. I hope you know that.”  
   
“You  _know_ I know that, Peter. But I think you love him too, whether you’ve admitted it to yourself or not. And, as long as you always come home to me in the end…”  
   
She tailed off, and looked deeply into his eyes.  
   
Peter wasn’t sure if he was understanding her. Was she…  _giving him permission_?  
   
She leaned in to kiss him, and when she pulled away, she had a playful glint in her eye.  
   
“Just promise me, one day, you’ll let me watch,” she whispered. 

 

 

 

  ** _32\. The One With The Fitting Room_**  
   
Neal had promised El he would take Peter to see his tailor, and with her birthday coming up, he figured there was no better occasion for Peter to debut a new suit. And so it was that Neal came to be sitting on a black leather couch sipping scotch on a Wednesday afternoon, watching as Byron’s tailor, now an elderly man but still, June insisted, the best, took a distinctly awkward looking Peter’s measurements.  
   
He had worked his way down carefully, starting by running his tape over Peter’s broad shoulders, and then down his arms, and as Neal sipped his drink slowly, the man had Peter turn back around, and knelt to run his tape up from the ankle, taking Peter’s inseam.  
   
Peter glared at Neal in the mirror as the younger man lounged comfortably and watched intently. He looked far too content.  
   
When the tailor had finished measuring and pinning, and putting his hands in places Peter felt were a little inappropriate for an old Italian man to be putting them, he had Peter remove the makings of the new jacket. He chattered animatedly with Neal in Italian as he took the piece and headed away.  
  
Neal thanked him, and turned back to Peter.  
   
“So. Shirts. And ties, you  _really_ need some new ties. He’ll be back for the pants later.”  
   
Peter scowled, but let Neal pass him several shirts, reminding himself over and again,  _this was a gift for El, this was a gift for El_.  
   
He headed into the fitting room to get started.  
   
*  
   
Four shirts and seven ties later, Peter was already well and truly tired of trying things on. To be honest, he had been tired of the whole deal before he and Neal had left the house, but seeing how much Neal was enjoying tormenting him was only making it worse. How did this happen? Neal got to relax on a sofa with a drink in his hand, watching with bright eyes as Peter modelled shirts that were cut too closely and had buttons that were too small. As he unbuttoned the last shirt, a purple tie hanging loosely around his shoulders, the curtain behind him slid open. Glancing in the mirror, he saw Neal standing there, looking him up and down in the reflection lustfully.  
   
“Yes, Neal?”  
   
“Take them off, Peter.”  
   
Peter looked up at him curiously.  
   
“Turn around, and take the damn pants off.” Neal’s voice was low, his eyes dark. His own well-tailored trousers did little to conceal his burgeoning erection.  
   
Peter quirked an eyebrow and slowly shifted his hands towards his fly.  
   
“Why?”  
   
“Because I’ve been sitting there watching you dress and undress over and again all afternoon. And because I’m going to suck you off right here, right now, and trust me, the tailor won’t appreciate having to try and get come out of Italian wool.”  
   
Neal stepped into the small room, sliding the heavy curtain closed behind him. And as his knees in their thousand-dollar threads hit the carpet, Peter conceded that perhaps the afternoon of suit shopping hadn’t turned out so bad.

 

 

   
    
 ** _33\. The One With The Cuffs, Part 11_**  
   
Peter was currently experiencing one of his favourite feelings – the one where he had gotten a step ahead of his suspect without them noticing. Diana entered his office, and Peter smiled broadly, feeling quite pleased with the way his plan to find Donovan’s tell had worked out.  
   
The look on Diana’s face dashed his good mood almost immediately.  
   
“It’s Neal.” She stated, tone matter-of-fact, face unimpressed.  
   
“Where is Neal? The game starts in three hours.” She nodded as Peter replied, before delivering the bad news.  
   
“He’s being arrested.”  
   
*  
   
Peter flashed his badge and made his way into Neal’s apartment. He saw Sara, a couple of big guys he assumed were police who were looking through Neal’s things, and then the man himself. Peter looked him up and down as he moved closer. Neal’s shirt was wrinkled, his collar open. His arms were pulled back; one of the officers standing behind him, closing the second cuff and finishing up with Neal’s rights as Peter arrived. Neal seemed relieved to see him; Sara, slightly annoyed.  
   
A bemused look came over his face as Sara informed him of what had happened, and Neal put on his most innocent face. Asking for a moment alone with Neal, he managed to find out that Mozzie was the one responsible for the theft. His eyes drifted to the spots where Neal’s shirt clung to his well-defined pecs. Turning his head away quickly, he forced himself to focus on the case at hand.  
   
“Detective? He’s all yours,” he heard himself say.  
   
Neal was shocked, staring at Peter in disbelief. Of all the things he had expected Peter to do, given his central role in the takedown of Donovan in just a few hours’ time, handing him over to the police was not one of them.  
   
Peter watched as they led Neal away in cufflinks and cuffs.  
   
He spoke briefly to Sara, his hands in his pockets pushing as much of the loose material of his pants as far to the front as possible. He told her about Kate, and how Neal did stupid things for stupid reasons when it came to her; and about their case, and the part Neal had to play in it. As Peter spoke, her frustration seemed to fade slightly. She left Peter alone moments later, a divided look on her face as she exited, considering her options.  
   
*  
   
Peter made his way quickly to Neal’s bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind him.  
   
 _“How integral?”_  
   
 _“Can’t do it without him.”_  
   
But with a mental image of Neal in his slim-fitting shirt, fabric pulled tightly across his toned chest, wrists pinned submissively behind him… Peter certainly could.

 

 

  
   
 ** _34\. The One Without Neal, Part 2_**  
   
Prison was a lonely place for Matthew Keller. During the day, his spacious cell with its port and cigars had its benefits, but being protected from other inmates also meant they were protected from him, and he hadn’t had a fuck in months.  
   
Lying in the dark, he stroked himself lazily as he flicked through a mental catalogue of some of his finest moments. It managed to be equal parts surprising and not surprising that all of the best ones seemed to involve Caffrey. The first night they met, when he gave Neal a quick and dirty hand-job in an elevator in The Grand Casino. That time in the alley behind Carson’s, when they had to get a cab home after because Neal could hardly walk… The times with the cuffs, when the Bureau had caught Neal’s trail and were trying to close in. The times with Kate, who had liked it best when Keller fucked Neal while he was still inside of her... The time on the balcony of that shitty old apartment they used to share; and the time right after that when he had double-cuffed Neal and fucked him hard enough that he blacked out, because he discovered Neal had let his pet Fed watch them.  
   
His hand moved faster, bringing him closer, as he thought about today; about the way Caffrey had burst in and thrown him up against the wall. He had fire in his eyes, and for a split-second, Keller had let himself pretend it was just like old times, and ignored the fact that he knew that flame of passion was now, bafflingly, reserved for Burke. That knowledge hadn’t stopped him getting hard as Caffrey pinned him, and he had quickly suggested they take the conversation outside to cool things down.  
   
The thought of Burke had put a slight dampener on things, and he pushed those thoughts aside in favour of his gold-star material again. Eyes closed, fist pumping his cock, he could almost pretend they were back in that apartment, Neal gasping his name weakly as he came for the fourth time that night, and then slackening beneath the other man. His body had had nothing more to give, the fourth orgasm delivering next to nothing, but Keller had no such problem tonight, his load spurting into his hand and spreading through his underwear as he heard Neal’s moan in his head and pictured those blue eyes rolling back loosely, lids sliding shut as Caffrey blacked out, fucked into oblivion.  
   
 

  
   
 _[Private Tutelage](http://www.archiveofourown.org/works/827395l) _  
   
 

  
   
 ** _35\. The One With Jones (And, Cuffs)_**  
   
Neal gripped the arms of the chair, tugging at the cuffs that held him there. His lips remained pressed together resolutely as Jones swiped his tongue over the sensitive head of Neal’s cock. He jerked, his breath coming shallow and fast, as Jones put Peter’s latest interrogation technique into practice. A deep moan, a combination of pain and pleasure, escaped Neal as Jones slowly bit down, until Neal squirmed with the pressure, and then sucked hard.  
   
“Where is it, Neal?” Peter asked, from where he sat watching the scene. Neal didn’t reply, and Peter stood up, making his way over to stand behind Neal. He watched over Neal’s shoulder as Jones licked and sucked and then slowly began to take Neal’s cock deep into his mouth. Peter gripped Neal’s arms firmly, holding his back against the hard wood of the chair. He could feel the tremors running through Neal’s body as Jones gradually swallowed him right down.  
   
“Confessions obtained under duress are inadmissible Peter, you know tha—” Neal’s voice hitched as Jones swallowed, his throat constricting around Neal. He rocked his hips forward, slumping slightly in the chair. Peter released Neal’s arms, walking back to his own chair, pulling it closer and sitting down once more.  
   
“Come on Neal. Whose idea was it? Yours? Was it Moz?”  
   
Neal shook his head. When he spoke, he was faintly breathless.  
   
“I’ve told you already, I didn’t steal it. I didn’t steal the art.”  
   
Neal looked him straight in the face, eyes bright and faintly bloodshot, holding Peter’s gaze firmly, right up until the moment they rolled back slightly and he stiffened, coming with a pained gasp as the metal of the cuffs dug into his wrists.  
   
If being sucked off by Jones wasn’t even enough to get Neal to talk, maybe he really didn’t know what happened to the treasure.

 

 

  
  
 ** _36\. The One With El_**  
   
Peter crowded up into Neal's space, gripping his lapels and pulling him closer until their lips crashed together. Pushing him backwards towards the kitchen bench, Peter's hands tugged at Neal's tie and he groaned slightly as Neal sucked sharply on his tongue, and slipped his slender fingers under Peter's to loosen the knot. The tie hadn't even hit June’s floor and Peter was pulling urgently at Neal's buttons. Neal shrugged out of his jacket and let it slip to the ground.  
   
Neal threw a hand out behind him instinctively as they neared the bench, Peter biting down on his lip throwing his concentration. His hip hit the counter-edge, his outstretched hand knocking Peter's empties against his own emptied bottle of red, and the bottles knocking his glass to the floor. It smashed as it struck the floorboards, the two pulling apart at the sound. The parallels with a certain scene from earlier in the day weren’t lost on either of them. Neal had been glad to have an excuse to stand out in the cold after being manhandled by Peter and ‘fired’ – it wouldn’t have done for everyone to see how turned on he’d been by Peter playing rough.  
   
Breathing harshly, Peter let his eyes roam over Neal, sizing him up like a rival. The argument during the sting was still fresh in both their minds; it may have been for show, but there was no denying the shades of truth in some of the angry words traded like blows. Oddly, despite the potential for it to have placed even further strain on their fragile partnership; the exchange seemed to have been cathartic for both; the last of the tension between them from the day’s events coming to the fore now in the form of adrenaline and arousal. His eyes flicked over Neal, his partially untucked shirt, the smooth skin of Neal’s chest visible where his buttons had been yanked open, his flushed cheeks and ruffled hair. Peter’s eyes lingered on his swollen lower lip, reddened where he had sunk his teeth in, swept over his groin, where an erection was forming fast, and settled on his eyes, bright and full of lust.  
   
Neal’s words from the fight rang in his ears; the blue of his eyes suddenly calling up thoughts of Elizabeth.  
   
“ _And the next time your hot wife gets lonely, tell her to call me_.”  
   
Peter’s gaze hardened, and he strode forward, pressing Neal back against the counter. The younger man ran his tongue lightly over his lip, and Peter seized the chance to kiss him again. Using Neal’s distraction to his advantage, Peter slipped one hand into Neal’s pocket, closing his fingers around the cellphone there, and the other to unzip his trousers. Slipping his hand inside, Peter chuckled, almost not surprised to find Neal wasn’t wearing underwear.  
   
“Going commando, Caffrey?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.  
   
“What can I say? It adds an air of mystery.” Neal winked, gasping slightly as Peter’s strong hand cupped his cock and squeezed.  
   
Peter pulled the phone from Neal’s pocket and dialled El’s number without breaking Neal’s gaze. She answered after two rings.  
   
“Hi Neal, what’s up?”  
   
“It’s Peter. I’m at Neal’s, you should come over here.” Neal made like he was going to speak, but Peter firmed his grip and Neal stayed silent.  
   
“Is everything okay?” Elizabeth sounded concerned.  
   
“Never better. Just wanted to see my  _hot wife_ , is all.” Recognition dawned on Neal’s face as El giggled and said something Neal couldn’t make out.  
   
“Love you,” Peter said, disconnecting the call and placing the phone on the bench.  
   
“She’s five minutes away,” he told Neal. “And she said to play nice…” He trailed off as his broad thumb stroked along Neal’s cock, the other man taking a deep, slow breath as he tried to get his head around what the hell was going on.  
   
Neal’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the counter, Peter’s hand teasing him with firmer strokes, separated by light brushes of rough fingertips over sensitive flesh. Precum was leaking freely onto the inside of his tux pants.  
   
“Peter…” Neal breathed, his gaze imploring the other man to give him what he needed.  
   
Peter smirked, eyes sparkling as he watched Neal struggle to keep control as he was slowly teased towards climax. He unfastened Neal’s belt and slipped the buttons free; the improved access making that slight twist of his wrist that never failed to take Neal apart that much easier.  
   
Neal closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath, feeling a wave of heat flush through him. If El didn’t get here within about… fifteen seconds—  
   
The door opened, and Neal turned to see El framed in the doorway. She stopped to survey the two of them, Neal moments from orgasm with Peter’s hand in his pants. Shutting the door behind her, she strode over to them, all dark hair and lush curves. Giving Peter a quick kiss, she turned to Neal with a mischievous glint in her eyes.  
   
“I was lonely,” she offered, placing the fedora she had picked up on his head, and kissing him, licking into his mouth, tasting Peter.  
   
Pulling away, she met his dazed expression with a smirk. She looked at her husband, and then back to Neal. Leaning in close, she murmured against his lips,  
   
“And we love the hat…” She kissed him again, and Peter was stroking and pulling, and Neal came hard, with El’s tongue in his mouth and Peter’s hand on his cock.

 

 

  
   
 ** _37\. The One With The Closet_**  
   
“Oh,  _fuck_ ,” Neal moaned as Peter thrust into him with enough force to push him backwards, the friction between the carpet and his skin burning the back of his bare shoulder.  
   
“Too much for you?” Peter panted, teasingly.  
   
“You wish,” Neal breathed, meeting his stare.  
   
“You want more?” Peter asked, slowly his strokes slightly. Neal didn’t know how there  _could_ be more. Canting his hips up slightly more, he invited it.  
   
“Do your worst,” Neal teased, and he gasped sharply as Peter rocked back and then drove into him hard.  
   
His breath caught in his throat as Peter thrust in deeper than Neal would have ever thought was possible. He felt…  _owned_ , by the sheer size of Peter’s cock invading him, the way it hit his prostate and felt like it was just going to keep going, and push right through into his abdomen. His resolve faded as his body submitted, letting Peter ravage him. Bright spots sparked in his vision and he struggled for air, as what felt like every muscle in his body spasmed with the strength of a truly spectacular orgasm. Peter followed him with a cry that just might have held a note of victory.  
   
Sucking in deep breaths, Peter pulled out and rolled off Neal, who let his legs slump to the floor, and just laid there; looking up at the ceiling as he slowly came out of his post-climactic daze. Lying on his side, Peter propped his head up on his hand and watched his younger lover. Neal let his head flop to the side, a lazy smile of deep satisfaction curling his lips. Peter winked, and grinned back.  
   
“Looks like we can cross the closet off the list.”

 

 

  
   
 ** _38\. The One With The Uniform_**  
   
They headed back to the office, where Neal had left his suit, so he could change out of the borrowed dress whites. On the way out this morning, people had smiled and nodded respectfully at him when he passed in the uniform, and Neal had tipped his hat and soaked it up, loving the attention and pulling off the sharp look very believably.  
   
As they headed up in the lift, Peter stood with his back to the wall, watching Neal. The younger man stood with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, the hat still hanging loosely from one finger. He seemed lost in thought, and had been quieter than usual after the incident with Van Horn earlier. The look on Neal’s face as he sat, slumped against the wall by the elevator, with nowhere to go as Van Horn sighted over his heart and prepared to shoot, was not one Peter would be able to forget any time soon. There was no doubt in either of their minds that he would have loosed the bow, and that if he had , there was little chance Neal would have survived the devastating effects of being shot at such close range.  
   
As they reached the floor of the office, Peter left the elevator, but Neal remained inside. Turning back, Peter noticed one of Neal’s hands was now clutching the railing, and his knuckles were white with the force of his grip. He looked pale, and as Peter drew closer, he could see Neal was shaking.  
   
“Neal?” Peter stepped back into the elevator just before the doors slid shut. It was getting late, and Peter doubted anyone would be in urgent need of the lift at this time of night, so he hit the stop button. Neal’s eyes met his slowly.  
   
“Are you okay?”  
   
“He would have killed me, Peter…” Neal’s voice was soft. Peter nodded slightly.  
   
“He was standing over me, knowing I couldn’t get away, and he would have looked me straight in the eye as he did it… he would have enjoyed it. And all I could think about was you. About how sorry I am for everything that’s happened, and how I wish you could look at me the way you used to, before everything I said and did became worthy of suspicion. And how you might never know that really, when it comes down to it, I love you so much it hurts; and how I hate myself for ruining any chance I ever had of you truly feeling the same.”  
   
Neal’s words came in a rush, and as the weight of the day and all of these surfacing feelings crashed over him, Peter could see his eyes shining with tears. He was stunned. Of all the responses he had thought he might get, he hadn’t seen this one coming. Clearly, this latest brush with death had shaken Neal more than he would normally care to admit; enough to make him realise there were things he had left unsaid that couldn’t be left so any longer.  
   
Peter took the two steps forward from where he stood to Neal, and without warning or hesitation, he kissed him. It wasn’t a kiss of lust, or of sparks that could no longer be contained, but one of relief that it could actually happen at all; one that showed that Peter was just as glad as Neal was that he was still there to be a part of it. As Neal dropped the hat and gripped Peter’s lapels, kissing him back with all of the feelings he had feared Peter would never know or understand, Peter had his watershed moment. He  _loved_ Neal, more than he ever could have expected to, more than any of their desperate heated moments alone could have suggested. He loved his wife, but he loved Neal just as much, and he couldn’t imagine how it would have felt if he had lost him today.  
   
One of Neal’s hands slipped down between them and fumbled with Peter’s belt, and the older man pulled away, his own hand stopping Neal’s. He shook his head, speaking gently.  
   
“Neal, you’ve been through a lot today…” Truthfully, since the first moment Peter had seen Neal in the whites that morning, he had wanted nothing more than to rip off the uniform and ravage him, but it had been a hell of a day for the younger man, and Peter didn’t want Neal to regret this later.  
   
“Please, Peter… I need this. I need  _you_.” The way Neal looked at him was having a dangerous effect on Peter’s resolve.  
   
“Then we need to take this to the office,” Peter said against Neal’s lips as he kissed him again.  
   
Turning around and hitting the button to open the doors once more, Peter led Neal through the (thankfully) empty bullpen and up the stairs to his office. Stopping in the doorway, he turned, taking Neal by the shoulders and putting his back against the glass.  
   
“Stay right there,” he said, moving around to the other side of his desk, fumbling around in the drawer. Moments later, he produced a tube of lube and a condom, opening his fly as he moved back towards Neal. Neal raised his eyebrows, finding it hard to believe Peter kept condoms in his office drawer.  
   
“I used to be a boy scout… and it’s only been since you started working here,” Peter answered Neal’s unspoken question. Neal smiled wickedly, unzipping and pushing the white trousers down, turning to face the glass as Peter came up close behind him. He wanted Peter, badly, and now.  
   
Slicking up his fingers, Peter asked Neal once more if he was sure. Neal’s impatient tone when he replied made it quite clear that he was, and Peter pressed his finger inside Neal, who waited barely seconds before he was pleading for more. Giving him a second finger, and, when he again almost immediately declared it wasn’t enough, a third, Peter did his best to ready Neal as quickly as possible. Neal gave a sigh, and Peter hesitated, but then realised Neal was egging him on, and in response, pushed in his fourth finger. Neal gasped now, the pleasure of feeling himself stretching, and of knowing what was coming, making his cock ache it was so hard.  
   
Peter slipped his fingers out and placed one hand over Neal’s, where his palm was pressed against the glass. His other hand gripping the crest of Neal’s hip, he braced himself and pushed forward, deeper and deeper until he was entirely inside in one long stroke. Neal’s breaths came quickly, fogging the glass. He had dreamed of this very moment, in this very spot. But the reality of it, of his already dripping cock pressed up against the pane, of Peter’s thick cock inside him to the hilt, was so much better than he ever could have imagined.  
   
“Fuck me, Peter,” he breathed, and Peter was more than happy to deliver.  
   
Rocking back, he pulled out and then slammed into Neal once more, and then again, and again. Neal was quickly reduced to gasps and moans, the side of his face pressed up against the glass as Peter thrust deeply inside of him. He was trembling with the intense pleasure as each of Peter’s pounding strokes hit his sweet spot so perfectly he couldn’t focus. He could hardly catch his breath – hardly remember his own  _name_ – as Peter gave him everything he needed and then some.  
   
Peter tried to hold off the orgasm he could feel building, desperately wanting to prolong this as much as possible, to capture every detail of the moment one of his fantasies became reality. He could hear Neal’s breaths getting shorter, the incoherent sounds slipping past his lips becoming more deliciously uncontrolled as he too neared his climax. He continued to thrust deeply, and suddenly, Neal was silenced, the air catching in his throat as his orgasm hit him with blinding force. The hand under Peter’s clenched into a tight fist as he exploded against the glass, the come marking the clear wall and the whites around Neal’s thighs. As Neal’s muscles spasmed around him, Peter couldn’t hold off any longer, arching and pressing himself up against Neal as he came. He rested his cheek on Neal’s shoulder, panting for breath as Neal did the same beneath him.  
   
Pulling out, Peter turned Neal towards him and embraced him, one hand pressed against his back, holding him close, one holding the back of his neck as Neal curled in close, breathing deeply against Peter’s chest.  
   
“I saw him standing over you Neal, and I saw how he would have done it, and all I could think about was you. About how sorry  _I_ am, and how much I love you, and how I was about to lose my chance to ever tell you that I know how you feel, and that I feel the same. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost you today… I love you, Neal. I  _need_ you.”  
   
Peter slipped his hand under Neal’s chin and raised it, kissing him, slowly, deeply, passionately. The way Neal deserved to be kissed. Neal clung to him and kissed back like he’d never thought he’d get the chance to.  
   
Finally pulling away for air, Peter smiled at Neal, and then shook his head slightly at the sight the two of them must been. Giving Neal another soft kiss, he set about cleaning himself up, and tucking back in. His eyes flickered over the younger man as he examined the large wet stain on the front of the white trousers he had pulled up once more.  
   
“Lucky I’ve got another suit,” Neal murmured, and then chuckled softly. He wasn’t sure if that would ever quite be able to be removed.

 

 

  
  
 ** _39\. The One With The Souvenir_**  
   
Peter called Diana’s friend at the State Department and apologised for the Bureau’s inability to return the naval commander uniform they had borrowed for their recent undercover mission. It had been damaged beyond repair in an unforeseen incident, and the Bureau was more than happy to cover the cost of replacing it, he had told them. But their representative had insisted it wasn’t a problem; that Peter needn’t worry, as long as they had solved the case. Peter had thanked him again for their assistance in arranging the meeting with Van Horn that had eventually lead to the take-down, and hung up, relieved.  
   
*  
   
As he pulled up to the drycleaner in the dingy part of town where the motel they had put Neal in after his release was located, he grabbed the white jacket and pants from the back of the car and headed inside. He hardly needed El’s and his regular drycleaner getting curious about why he needed semen stains removed from a set of navy whites.  
   
Dropping them off, he insisted they had to be careful, that the uniform had to be in pristine condition as he needed it for an upcoming event. The woman behind the counter had looked at him with some scepticism, clearly seeing that Peter was larger than the suit he was having cleaned, but it wasn’t her job to question, so she took the whites and promised Peter they’d be ready by the same time tomorrow.  
   
*  
   
Peter headed in to the little shop again the next evening, and the same lady recognised him, fetching the bag which held the brightly white and perfectly pressed uniform. The buttons looked as if they had been polished, and it was almost a shame to have to ask them to fold it for him, and place it in a carry bag. Placing it in the car and driving home, Peter pondered where to keep his latest souvenir; it was a little too big for that old box under the bed…

 

 

  
   
 ** _40\. The One With The Ladder_**  
   
“I know you don’t like port, but I promise you, this one is great, and no, it’s not syrupy.” Neal said with a grin.  
   
Peter stood casually, leaning against the back of one of the dining chairs, observing Neal as he perused the wine rack. His fitted shirt, pulled close against him as he bent forward, enhanced the lean lines of his body. Peter’s eyes travelled along his arms, over his back and slim waist. Sensing he was being watched, Neal looked up, meeting Peter’s eyes. He smiled, sliding the bottle out of its place and straightening.  
   
“Found it,” he said, turning towards Peter. The other man made no move to look at the bottle, however, eyes still fixed firmly on Neal. Or, more specifically, on Neal’s crotch. Neal smirked, setting the bottle down on the side table.  
   
He turned slightly, leaning back against the ladder that was fixed to the wall by the door. Resting a foot casually on one of the lower rungs, he looked at Peter invitingly.  
   
“Or, maybe, we should just move on to dessert..?” he said suggestively with a wink.  
   
Still several feet away, Peter shifted towards Neal. Relaxed, happy, and begging to be taken up on his offer, he was the picture of temptation. Of everything Peter had never known he wanted, but now couldn’t imagine his life without. And then there was the ladder.  _How did he know about the ladder?  
  
Of course _ he knew about the damn ladder.  
   
Peter crossed the room slowly, undressing Neal with his eyes as he neared the younger man.  
   
“Dessert, huh? What did you have in mind?”  
   
Running one hand up the rail of the ladder, Neal wrapped long fingers around the metal above his head. By now, Peter had reached him, and he placed his hands low on Neal’s hips, bringing their bodies close. Neal was now effectively trapped between Peter and the rungs at his back, but he made no move to escape. Instead, with his other arm, he pulled Peter closer, and kissed him. The kiss was soft, and romantic, but as it went on, Peter deepened it, pressing himself against Neal; pushing him back against the ladder. He gripped one of the rungs beside Neal’s hip, and ground himself against the other man. The kiss was broken as Neal let out a breathy moan, Peter’s hardening cock rubbing against his own.  
   
Tilting his head up slightly, Neal brought his mouth close to Peter’s ear.  
   
“Don’t think I don’t know how much you’ve wanted this, Peter,” he murmured. Peter felt his cheeks colour slightly – had he been that obvious? But Neal was now kissing his neck, and sucking gently in a way that would leave Peter with some explaining to do at the office if he wasn’t careful, and Peter couldn’t deny that he did so love a good dessert.  
   
He shifted his hands to the front of Neal’s pants, undoing them easily and pushing them down as he kissed Neal again. As they fell to the ground, Neal stepped out of them, and Peter kicked them aside as he unzipped himself. His cock was already hard, and he met Neal’s eyes, seeking permission. Neal’s nod and comfortably trusting gaze had Peter as good as ready.  
   
His left hand resting on Neal’s hip once more, Peter slowly slid the right over the smooth curve of his ass. Neal exhaled and forced himself to relax as Peter pressed the first slickened finger inside him, followed closely by a second. He shifted slightly, leaning harder against the metal behind him, tipping his head back and resting it against one of the rungs of the ladder. His breathing quickened as Peter split his fingers wide, and cheekily added a third. Neal gasped, but pushed back against his hand, feeling himself opening up for Peter and loving every second of it. Peter was thorough; the last thing he wanted was to hurt Neal any more than Neal wanted to be hurt.  
   
Peter carefully removed his fingers, and Neal lifted his head, and made to turn around. Peter’s hands on his hips stopped him.  
   
“No. Like this…”  
   
Neal eyes glittered with arousal as he wrapped his arm around the railing above his head, the other hand clutching a rung at the level of his waist. Peter lifted Neal’s right leg to rest on his hip, lining himself up. Feeling Peter’s tip touch him, an excited shiver ran down Neal’s spine. Peter wasn’t the only one who’d always wanted to put this ladder to better use.  
   
Peter pushed in slowly; Neal’s knuckles white as he gripped the metal. Peter pulled back out, and then thrust his hips forward with more force. He watched Neal’s face, the way his mouth fell open slightly as Peter pushed into him, the way his controlled façade began to slip as he gave in. A few more shallow thrusts had Neal loosening his grip, trying to force more of his weight down; more of Peter’s cock inside him. Knowing Neal could take it, Peter gradually began to thrust harder, faster, and deeper. Neal’s breath came in short gasps as his back was slammed against the rungs with every stroke, he could almost feel the bruises forming as his every nerve offered a heightened response. Peter was lost in his own rhythm, in the perfection of Neal’s tight heat around him, his own breathing shallow as he rocked his hips with enough force to have Neal’s toes barely touching the ground.  
   
Neal’s head dropped forward, a sweat-dampened curl falling loose onto his forehead as his grip slackened further, letting Peter own him with the fierce pace. Every stroke now was hitting his prostate, and his legs were weak with the waves of pleasure rolling through his body. Neal was close to his peak, breaths shortening further as he felt that familiar wave of heat flush through him, hand gripping the rail tightly as he reached climax. He arched, crying out as his vision went white and he shook with the force of his orgasm.  
   
As Neal’s muscles contracted around him, Peter came hard, shooting what felt like endless amounts of come inside of his lover as he clutched the rail beside Neal’s own hand. Sucking in deep breaths, Peter kissed Neal’s throat, licking at the sweat that had formed in a fine layer on the pale skin. He pulled out slowly, lowering Neal’s leg back to the ground, running a hand lightly up his flank. Neal let the arm above his head fall limply to his side, slumping back against the rungs that he could feel had marked his skin. He felt as though every muscle in his body had gone slack, and Peter was all that was holding him up.  
   
“Happy birthday, Peter,” Neal whispered, breathless.  
   
Peter grinned as he replied,  
   
“And here’s to many more…”


End file.
